Welcome to Gaia! ::

‘Farah's Garden— ‘

He’d had the business card tucked away amongst his wallet of cards, a benign, brown billfold, worn and leathered, stuffed away into a lowermost drawer. Oftentimes filled with cards from people who wanted to do business with his company, promising ventures, clients who liked to cater things for free, his favorite place to get a haircut, etc. There was something about having a physical reminder of a thing, because phones could get cluttered with contacts, and he didn’t care enough to keep every number or text or what have you that randomly got through to him.

A card though? Tiny little ‘pleas’ printed en’ masse, there should’ve been nothing special about one or another. Save this one, this one in particular was special. Lovingly embossed, low quality, touched with greens, and the touch sparked a memory, and the memory spurred Syrus into action in the early morning light. Left him getting dressed in something casual, soft fitted, light colors to offset the heat of the day that would surely come.

He quite suddenly needed to pick up some flowers, and he knew just the place to get them—



The shop seemed quaint as it was quiet, the signage welcoming, the smells of fresh blooms and soft soil tugged at something deep in his heart. It ached. Like the first taste of paneer with spicy sauce, or the relief of cooling off after a long mission run across hot rooftops, or—

‘Gods, why does this have to ******** hurt so badly—’

He chided himself for staring at the door instead of going in, swallowed the hurt and puffed himself up. Aimed for nonchalant and normal. He was just here for flowers, it was fine to go inside, he was as much a patron as any other being in the city! Thinking the thoughts didn’t leave him any less breathless as he gathered up the courage to go inside. To walk the space looking for nothing specific…

Looking nearly bored as he did contemplative…even if it was all a clever mask of a lie….

“You know, I read recently that flowers themselves have a language all their own? That what a person chooses to put in a bouquet can change the meaning of it. If, of course, that person is being thoughtful enough about it and not simply pulling the first pretty thing they see..” Syrus mused aloud, almost to himself, he supposed humans were simply like that, making codes of everything and anything; gemstones, weeds, the very stars above their heads. For every numer an ology, every horor a scope, and so on. Because what was life without ascribed meanings, labels, syntax! It was messy.

Like humans tried so hard not to be, like he was trying to not be right now. Trying and likely failing all at once, because he didn’t expect Matt to pick up the phone to him, to answer his texts, certainly he wasn’t about to go to the man's house and knock down his door like a frantic, scorned lover!
That left him with this; coming to the place the man worked and pulling on the pretense of completing a mundane task on a list of ten other tasks. He kept telling himself he could do this, that he could do it oh so very business casual like. Kept telling that to himself even as he scanned the space with sharp eyes, looking at everything *but* the flowers, and nearly froze up at a familiar sight.

The sight he wanted most to see in the whole of the world….

He almost missed the put-upon customer service voice the second it disappeared, the way he secretly longed to hear from Matt, even if it was only like this. Syrus tried not to color at the notable irritation, to avoid letting his own brand of chilled hurt show on his face. He’d come all this way, and what did he get for it? Not so much as a ‘hello, how are you.’ Not even a friendly ‘go ******** yourself’.

He got customer service in spades and heated silence….

Matt knows who I am, we can talk if he wants to, we can fix things—

But why would he want that? They were apparently strangers in each other's lives in all the ways that counted most. In all the ways Syrus had never expected they’d be, he’d thought they’d known each other! And he'd been wrong. It was fine though, utterly fine, if Matt wanted to be a distant b*****d about it? Then two could play.

“When one needs flowers….” as if it was obvious why he was here, as if he was simply shopping at that moment. If one ignored how his eyes darted around to check that there genuinely wasn’t anyone else within earshot, that the place wasn’t brimming with unseen other customers that would pop out from behind a fern, or begonia, or whatever green thing there was in the corner.

“What better place to go than a flower shop? If you’re not too busy, I wouldn’t mind some assistance. I’m trying to decide on what to get for an occasion I’ve got coming up…” his words licked with false pleasantries, edged with acid, if Matt suddenly found something else to do in the place? Syrus wasn’t sure if he would burst into laughter or tears, both would’ve felt appropriate given everything that had happened so recently.

“He–” Syrus corrected with swift ease, crossing his arms over his chest, raising a delicate thumb to press over his lower lip, as if deeply considering the question. “ — though I do have a friend of the female persuasion who may also need a bouquet soon.” As if he would keep in mind the idea that any particular girl could’ve possibly enjoyed flowers, a truly wild concept. Syrus tried not to be riled by it as he trudged on, to remain unhurt by the jab, replying with syrupy gratitude spilling over every tense syllable.

“And the occasion is yet to be determined—“ he had to break eye contact, to frown thoughtfully through a put upon sigh and look anywhere else. Anywhere but Matt’s face, then yellow lilies were lovely, there were glazed vases in a corner that shined —

“That’s part of what makes this all so difficult, actually. The reason I’m here? Instead of at a grocery store buying half-wilted, hot-pink roses at a discount,” and he couldn’t keep his gaze away for long, had to meet Matt’s eyes with his own narrowed expressive ones. “All the unknowns— here I am facing an impossible task— and every piece of data I have is so utterly anomalous—I could text him? Find out what colors he likes best. Whether the flowers are meant for a funeral arrangement or an apology vase..“ the words soft as they were pointed, gently honed, sad.

“I can’t text her. A shame. But she’s not the one who needs texting. And ultimately? You’re the one with all the expertise in this, aren’t you? Small shops being long-standing cornerstones of the community and all that…” he almost wanted to ask how long the shop had been around, ask after the quaint name of the place, give Matt a compliment on the loveliest little shop he’d ever seen!

Knew the words would’ve become venom as quickly as he spat them out. Because if the man was staying? If Syrus was the one who had to lose it all in his stead? In search of something grander than each other — than himself — then why should he be so barred from the man’s private life?! Why shouldn’t he meet Matt’s family! See his home? Go by his work and bring him a coffee on the way to his own job! He wondered if he should’ve opened that door too—

Knew how hesitant Matt had been to give him anything, even for the sake of keeping his life together after the fact.

He wondered—-

Was there any part of him that Matt would miss once he was gone? Not his friends, surely, he knew Matt had hardly cause to meet them, and not a day wished by where he wished that had been different. Because Aramis was so unlike any other— But he assumed Matt lacked the interest in that, too. Maybe he’d miss his lack of aesthetic? His bossiness? Their pleasant b***h sessions and warm nights sharing a bed?

And where all the anger sat in his center, like a tight, spiny ball. All the panic, because he’d done nothing but panic since. He found neither feeling would ever be greater than the sadness he felt over standing in the man he loved second home, and feeling like an enemy crossing barbed lines.

He could hear the imagined door closing shut between them, could see it, truly. Cloaked in darkness and narrowly small, locking the rest of the world out behind it. Locking him out of Matt’s life. The finality of Matt’s statement was loud to his own ears, especially in the quiet of the floral shop.

Matt didn’t want to hear from him, obviously, even if what he wanted most was to be heard.

Hadn’t he pushed enough already though? Hadn’t that been all he’d done from the start, and oh, maybe not the same way Waru did— but he was terrible at turning away from his own desires, at hearing ‘no’ over things he wanted. Especially once he’d opened his mouth and asked for them. To have to walk all of that back now…

“Thank you for passing that on, and you’re right. I do know what I want.” His tone was genuine, briefly so, and dovetailed with determination. Because Matt was right, he’d always had clear goals, a mission and a vision. He knew himself, was loath to be deterred from any of it.

Especially now. So he trudged forwards, moved on to the point.

“An apology bouquet would be perfect. Something that says ‘I’m sorry’ — but not in a flashy or gaudy way. He would hate that, I think. He likes things softer, more contained, and so I’m thinking…Whatever colors symbolize redemption and sympathy? Peace? Whites—blues— Unless you think a more empathetic tone of flower is better suited for that kind of display…” and he was already moving away, giving Matt his back as he strode towards the register of the place, like he was little more than some impatient customer being waited on.

Like this was an everyday occurrence, casual as the next. Nothing special, nothing beyond the mundane, certainly it didn’t feel like a knife to the earth to be looked at like that by Matthew. Ice didn’t bleed—

“You can put a card with it as well, can’t you? Wonderful—“ Syrus didn’t state the words as though they were a question, he wouldn’t give Matt the satisfaction of denying him even this simplest thing.

This tiny little finality.

He stayed waiting, rifling through his wallet for a method with which to best pay.

“Thank you, but I’ve something in mind. If you could make it out to ‘Matt Gowan’, please.” Everywhere seemed to have little jars with decorated pens these days, disguised to look like a variety of things, sparklers, bank notes, flowers. Syrus carefully plucked one out of the clean jar as he spoke, twirling it between his fingers absently. Distracting himself with the hue of silken petals around the end of it. The way they reminded him of Matt’s eyes. How he couldn’t meet them just yet, it’d ruin everything, he’d fall apart on the damn floor and there’d be no picking himself back up off it.

“And have it say— ‘I’m sorry for wasting your time*’,” He wasn’t about to make this scene any more public than necessary, to embarrass himself completely, where anyone could just walk in and see. He wondered why he’d bothered to come, but truly? He knew. He was being greedy, even here and now, wanting a last glimpse of reality before the door finished closing and the deadbolt clicked over behind it. He wanted Matt’s face in its element, his eyes even if they were full of hatred for him. To get that final word in. “Then— ‘With all my love, Syrus Schreyer’ — I’ll make sure he knows to come by and pick it up. I’d offer to take them myself, but I don’t think they’d survive my workplace.”

The cash for the cost of the bouquet came out, straight bills laid nearly, he wouldn’t ask for change, he didn’t care if he’d overpaid. The pen stayed in his hand, between a pair of knuckles gone white from holding it.

“‘If you could text me, here—“ uselessly perfunctory, utterly foolish at the same time, to bother writing his personal number down on the back of the ‘Farrah’s Gardens' business card he’d pulled out alongside the money, but he did it nonetheless. Played the act through, grit his teeth and stayed in the role “to let me know when he’s received them — and the message.” the words nearly whispered as he finally looked back up….

And it was fine, this was fine!

He should’ve known it’d come to this, hadn’t he always expected too much from Matt? That this man, in all his gentle understanding, all his wisdom. That Matt; loving, strong, protective to his core. Would eventually pull away when he became too much. When his ceaseless grasping for more became overbearing—

The pressures he must’ve put on him without thinking, the heavy mantle of being the one thing he wanted most, being able to provide that. Everything Syrus was almost never willing to ask for — and of course once he had actually started asking for things?! Hah!!

But had what he’d done with Matt even been asking? It didn’t seem like it now, not looking back on it. To have put so much of himself, his desires, his need on this man was decidedly unfair, and he’d pushed for it, hadn’t he? Bowled Matt over about it all, in spite of his very logical grievances and hesitancy. And hadn’t Matt warned him every step of the way? Questioned him? Yanked on the reigns? Given him every chance to get out while the getting was good..

And Syrus knew he had ignored him — talked over him — even when they were planning Matt’s escape route, writing down his life, Syrus had been unable to avoid circling back to the ‘what about me, what do I get out of this!?’ portion of that fiasco. He'd wanted more of Matt even then, more, and more, and the absolute most of a man who was begging him to pace himself. He’d wanted it drunk, sober, high off of the endorphins of survival!! On the heels of a win against the cruelest odds. Gasping for it in the wine-filled aftermath of his best friend's wedding, who he’d tried to be happy for!

He’d wanted Matt so godamned badly. Always just that little bit of ‘more’ — always — he found he couldn’t help ********, if he didn’t hate being needy like this, giving into the impulse of it. So he could see him one more time. Demanding Matt’s gaze and his service even knowing he was the last person on earth the other man wanted to see. He hated himself for it, just a little, that very human need for the man across from him. How he gave into it the same way one would drink orange juice to avoid having a vitamin deficiency — and as strongly as he felt for Nectaris? She didn’t exactly produce ‘C — much in the same ways Aramis hadn’t — it was an itch half scratched, a cup with a hole in the bottom, death by scurvy and sweetness. That was what he’d had Waru for….

‘Had’ being the key word, and how long had Waru been ‘gone’ in a sense? Since he’d pushed him out and away for having found a new source? For having been angry at him. How fine had it been, so long as he had Matthew….

Syrus could’ve laughed at himself, what a fickle creature he was. To compare any of them to another was cruel as it was ridiculous. Because none of them were interchangeable beings, he wasn’t simply wasn’t replacing Matt with Nikki, wasn't leaving him to be with her! Hadn’t distanced himself from Waru and Aramis because the others were somehow better. None of this worked that way!!!

But the optics were poor, terribly so, and blood was thicker—

Always—

And he wasn’t about to argue Matt chose the worse option for the sake of nothing— If the purpose of proposal and marriage was to make one’s partner's life better? To make his own life better? Then clearly he’d failed from the start. Because Matt had made his life better simply by allowing him to know him for a time. And what had he done with that? How had he bettered Matthew, exactly? Threatened his loving family, ruined what the man’d had with his former mentor by stepping straight into the middle of it, missed, entirely all of Matt’s pain! Straight up ignored it, in fact. Oh, yes, future husband of the year material right here! What a lovely partner he’d turned out to be—-

So it was better this way.

This was better this way.

To have said his piece, and then leave the shop with the image of Matt’s lovely, livid gaze burned into his memories. It was something, it was his, and he’d take what he could get. Even now.